Mahinda’s Little World

…she said,
“Oh, baby, I feel so down.
Oh it turns me off,
When I feel left out”
So I walked out,
“Oh, baby, don’t care no more,
I know this for sure,
I’m walkin’ out that door.”

I don’t recall them playing that at 5th Ave last night, but it’d surprise me if they didn’t.

I left work just after 5pm, with the plan being to meet Linden and her teachery mates for a drink at The Old Cock. It took TWO SODDING HOURS to get from Altrincham to Didsbury. TWO SODDING HOURS! I won’t go into details (it’d make me too angry); it’d suffice to say that the M56 was absolutely dead.

Found Linden and Ed, and had a swift pint before dropping them off at the Red Lion, nipping home, getting squash stuff, and heading straight to the Sugden Centre to play squash with Mark, etc.

We had three courts, and there were seven of us playing - Mark, me, Luc, Sean, Jon, Rimko and Dan. I played everyone once, and Mark twice, and won the lot. I was pretty chuffed, as I’d not played for about six months.

Headed to The Pub (formerly Scruffy Murphy) to join Pete and Rosy and watch Doncaster Rovers ALMOST knock Arsenal out of the cup. The Arse won on penalties, and celebrated as though they’d just been crowned champions of Europe, rather than scraping past a lower league side. Alison, Linden and Ed joined us, and a plan was hatched - 5th Ave!

Drove home, changed and got the bus back. Met up with the others in The Garrett…to find that it was only Pete, Ed and Linden! Absolutely shocking behaviour from the rest of them. We had a short each (tequila and Coke for me - GREAT stuff) and headed over the road for indie club goodness.

It was a really good night, and the four of us danced like loons until closing time.

Memorable moments for me:

• Pete being handed a passport that blatantly wasn’t his. Unless he’d become a weedy-looking chap with glasses.
• Finding Steph (whose name I couldn’t remember until Linden asked “Is that Stephanie?”)…and then finding her passport on the floor.
• Bumping into (almost literally) Hannah, one of the dancers from the Altrincham panto. My first words to her? “How old are you?!” Ooops. 17, but keep it quiet. Think I scared the bloke she was with. It makes me feel old, to be honest - seeing someone in 5th Ave who you remember as a 14-year-old in a leotard.
• A bloke and girl offering to buy my round if I ate a whole cigarette. Looking back, maybe I should have done it - I was really close to going for it. Talked to the girl a bit, later on. Turns out that they found someone who managed it, to much general amusement.
• Inflatable evil snowman.
• Top Christmas tunes.
• Generally happy vibe (except for one minor fight).
• Pete dropping kebab juice all over his jeans and the floor of the bus.

So there you go.

Sunday was Goonie Christmas. I’m going to have to explain…

Back in May, the regular Platt Fields hockey session was taking place on Wednesdays. After one such session, Linden, Pete, Rosy and I decided that we needed more beer. And pizza.

So we ended up back at Pete and Rosy’s place, for (qu’elle surprise) more beer. And pizza.

We ended up playing I Have Never until about 3am, and watched some of The Goonies. Pete was in a bit of a contrary mood, so was arguing that Sean Astin (aka Sam Gamgee) played the part of the non-Mikey Goonie. Which was clearly wrong. So, the next day at work, I look up the cast list on IMDB, and email it round to prove Pete wrong. With “Goonies” as the subject line.

Several dozen emails later, with the same subject line, and it had turned into a sort of informal mailing list. I really can’t remember how, but Alison joined the gang at the start of June. It might have been Rosy’s fault.

Since then, we’ve really become a very close-knit little clique. We made the decision to keep it at just the five of us, excluding other friends and even boyfriends from the “Goonies List”. We pretty much make up our own little blogring, too - it’s always interesting when the same event gets written about by five people!

We decided a while back to cook for each other on Sunday evenings - Linden and Pete’s places have become the de facto venues, thanks mainly to ease of use and housemate stuff. I’ll have to get us all over to my place at some point.

But I digress, yet again.

We decided that we should all have a good Christmas dinner together, along with Ed, Justin and a few others.

This, of course, meant that I had to wake up FAR too early on Sunday. 11.30am, to be exact. This, unfortunately, meant four hours of drunken sleep. Not good.

So, dragged myself out of bed and phoned Linden, who was the central organiser of it all. She came round and picked me up, before getting Pete, Rosy and Alison, dropping a bass guitar back at her place, and taking us to Sainsbury’s.

Sainsbury’s. Fallowfield. I bumped into Andy, one of the Didsbury hockey players - he played on the same Hulme Hall team as me, back in my student days. Turned out that he was out with the Didsbury bunch at Jabez the night earlier - I’d spotted some of the others, but must have missed him. He’s only little, though. Alison and I then spotted Gareth on one of the tills, looking particularly bored, but not as bored as the cute blonde at the till behind him - she looked astronomically bored! Chatted for a while, and quizzed him on the location of various items. He did reassuringly well, failing only on “How many different kinds of pea do you sell?”

While I was picking up some mustard, an old lady asked me if I worked there. I was wearing brown trousers and a very shiny burgundy shirt. Not exactly Sainsbury’s uniform!

Finished shopping, went back, and started cooking. Ably assisted by the others (mostly Pete and Alison), it took FIVE HOURS to get it all done! Too many dishes, too small an oven. Not good.

Still, it was a lovely meal, and all were suitably stuffed by the end of it. The main course comprised:

• Roast turkey joint (properly stuffed, though)
• Roast gammon
• Roast potatoes
• Posh pigs in blankets (Lincolnshire chipolatas wrapped in pancetta)
• Meaty homemade stuffing
• Paxo-based veggie stuffing
• Linden’s homemade fruity stuffing (fnarr)
• Potato, swede and carrot mash
• Roast parsnips
• Yorkshire puds (Alison came to the fore once again)
• Sprouts with almonds (very nice!)
• Carrots (plain boiled)
• Meaty onion and mushroom gravy
• Veggie onion and mushroom gravy

The starter was freshly baked bread with wild boar pâté, smoked salmon and cream cheese.

Alison even made some mince pies from scratch, which were nice. We’d cunningly inserted a sprout into one or two of them. Unfortunately, the recipients didn’t even notice - although Ed did, when asked, complain that it didn’t taste very nice!

Watched Stand By Me after dinner. GREAT film. Pete isn’t a fan, but it really takes me back to the summer holidays back when I was 11 or 12, walking and/or cycling in undiscovered countryside with the other kids from our little row of houses. Those were magical days - the area had a veritable plethora of disused farm buildings, fields of head-high rapeseed, coppices and footpaths. Those were great days, and Stand By Me evokes them more than anything else.

Alison left approximately 5 minutes before the end of the film. Pete, Rosy and I walked Emma home before heading back ourselves.

All in all, a nice little celebration - I’m just thankful that I’d booked Monday morning off work!

MERRY GOONIE CHRISTMAS!

Last Friday saw the Tenby Towers Christmas Dinner.

In previous years it’s been the stuff of legend - all five housemates, with one guest each, spending a whole Saturday drinking and eating, often topped off with a trip out on the town. Or at least Jabez.

Unfortunately, we had mutually exclusive schedules this year, so it was left to just Irish Helen, Lynda and I on a Friday evening. Lynda got Laura and Amadeo in, and I drafted Kate in at the last minute.

The meal went pretty well, I thought, with everything turning out decent enough. We drank and watched Christmassy music videos in a suitably merry fashion.

And then it was just Lynda and me. Not long after midnight. I think the problem is that, when you’ve got a group of ten or so, there are always a few people up for more drinking.

Fun, but not a patch on previous affairs.

Maybe next year.

Not a Lads’ Night Out

Saturday evening saw me joining up with Jon D, Mark, Adam, etc. for what had been described as a lads’ night out. As it turned out, it wasn’t.

The evening started in Kro2, which was as it usually is. Decided to have a bottle of Lion stout - Sri Lankan brewed, 8.0%, and great stuff! Just a bit lethal though.

Rich turned up with three housemates - Kat, Paula (I think, but I’m really not sure) and Matt, and we eventually headed over to Jabez (eschewing the chance to join Linden, Pete, etc. in Fab).

Not a bad night, but nothing special really. Had the all too common thing of thinking I was getting on pretty well with an attractive girl, only for her to end up well and truly after one of the others in my party. Ho hum.

It approached kicking out time (now a healthy 3am, although they stop serving at 2am), we (Ads, Dan, Mark, Rich and I) headed back to Mark’s place for poker, beer and snack food. £10 in, and the game ended with just Adam and I slugging it out at 6am. Ads, being the jammiest bugger in the world, managed to win, despite having been first out and having to buy back in with another tenner. I’m quite proud of the fact that I had to go all in twice but still came out respectably.

Cab home. Think I was safely tucked up in bed come 7am. Just twelve hours previously, my plan had been to watch a DVD then have an early night!

Only today did I realise just how many people I know have blogs - there’s a HUGE (and highly interconnected) MUGSS contingent on LiveJournal, for a start. Now, I really don’t want to get involved in that - it’s not that I don’t like or get on with that lot…it’s just that I don’t want to. Nothing personal!

Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to have much of a choice.

There are a lot of things that I’d like to put down here…after all, my initial intention was to have it as a sort of diary. Some people can get away with this - one friend, whose blog I’ve recently been perusing, gets VERY personal, safe in the knowledge (presumably) that the people concerned don’t read about themselves…or have friends reading about them.

I just don’t have that luxury. Okay, so it’s inherently big-headed, and symptomatic of thinking that the world revolves around me, but it’s true!

One solution would be to have “friends only” posts, but I sort of feel that that negates the point. It’s like having armed police, completely non-smoking pubs, and ID cards - on paper, I don’t think you can construct a valid argument against it…but, in my opinion, it’s just wrong on vaguely moral grounds. Or something.

Anyway, enough of being maudlin. What have I been up to of late?

Sunday

Spent most of the day sleeping or lazing around - Sunday Mahinda came to the fore, as is his wont.

Linden then called me out to see Narnia (or “The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe” to give it its proper name) - I inveigled Housemate Lynda into joining me, and drove into MancLand. We purchased tickets, and bumped into Linden, Justin, Lizzie, Lizzie (another one!), Sam and Ed. Our seats, as it turned out, were right behind theirs - handy! They went for a drink in the Printworks, while Lynda and I went in search of mulled wine (and, in my case, a highly tasty steak burger) in St. Anne’s Square.

Got back just in time to miss most of the trailers. Unfortunately, some buggers had nicked our seats - we snaffled some equally good ones instead, but missed out on the goodness that is mythering your friends from behind.

‘Twas a very good film - I was expecting absolutely awful things, possibly even a complete Disney desecration of one of the great books of my childhood*. Fortunately, that was not the case, with some lovely performances from the four child actors, especially Lucy.

* See also “Rings, Lord of the”, “Swallows and Amazons”, “Wild Things Are, Where The” and “Caterpillar, the Very Hungry”.

It had very much of a Railway Children feel to it with Susan, in particular, having the potential to be the next Jenny Agutter. Just without the red petticoat. There’s no way I’m going to Google for a suitable image, given Ms. Agutter’s subsequent career.

Susan was always my favourite character, which probably reveals something about my psyche.

Narnia

I’m just a bit worried that the other six books aren’t going to work out so well - after all, not all of them would make such good films. Reepicheep in particular could become the next Jar Jar ****ing Binks.

Still, it just goes to show that Harry Potter really isn’t the amazing revelationary series that the marketeers (and sheep) would have us believe. Sure, it’s good, but it’s really not the first set of children’s books to feature strong, developed characters and a proper plot.

As we left the auditorium, I happened to spot Workmate Caroline and Gav (her bloke) sitting there watching the credits. Justin (himself a former workmate) and I went over to say hello, and we all ended up decamping to the Sinclair for a Sunday evening pint before venturing home.

I ended up giving lifts to Pete and Rosy (plus Housemate Lynda, of course), and that’s when I noticed that I was getting some strange pains in my chest, just below my heart I suppose.

Thought nothing much of it, went home, and headed to bed.

Monday

I had a seriously bad night’s sleep. I reckon I’d sprained my diaphragm, and it hurt (in short sharp jolts) to laugh, reach, bend over and even breathe heavily.

Not good.

Still, I had to go shooting after work. Didn’t do too badly, considering. Had to miss out on yet another visit to the downstairs bit of Samsi

Tuesday

Gave hockey training a miss. Worked reasonably late and chilled out at home instead. I think.

Was still getting chest pains, but it wasn’t quite as bad as Monday.

Got an invite from Howell to the Fab Café Christmas Party, but couldn’t make it as I had to peel spuds. I kid you not.

Wednesday

Felt much better, but was very short on sleep - I move around a lot in my sleep, so a problem where you get a sharp pain in your chest if you twist around really isn’t good.

After work, I dashed over to Howell’s place for his Christmas dinner/film party. Was very good, but deserves a full write-up of its own, one of these days.

Thursday

Went to the German market for mulled wine and sausage, with Boss Alison, Workmate Caroline and Gav. Was a nice little evening out. Bought slab of beef and stored it in my coat pocket for the rest of the evening!

After the market closed up, we had a pint in the City Arms, then dispersed. I headed to UMIST to find the MUGSS bunch, and then headed with a select few (too few) of them to Via Fossa for more drinks.

I managed to promise Mia that I’d start playing badminton with her next year. I WILL find the time for it!

Unfortunately, I later lost the “Danger! Moose** ahead!” badge from my coat, which had lived on my lapel for the best part of five years. It was a souvenir from Finland. If anyone can find a replacement, I’d be eternally grateful.

** Technically an elk, of course, but never mind.

I’ll write about the weekend later…

Wow! I’m almost current with my ramblings!

Last Saturday, as it says on the tin, was our works Christmas party. I’d not been to one for quite a few years as they, without fail, clash with the MUGSS Christmas Ball. This year was no exception but, no longer being in MUGSS, I went with work.

‘Twas a meal at Tiger Tiger, free for you and a partner/guest. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anyone to go with, so I just went along as a singley. Story of my life these days.

Got to Tiger Tiger, found the 50-or-so people squished in (there really wasn’t much room!) and headed to the bar for a pre-dinner drink. Andy, one of the socials committee, handed me £20 cash - as they couldn’t put a free bar on, everyone got hard cash to go towards their drinks. Inspired, especially considering that your guest (if you had one) got the same. It was only really £15 cash, as everyone had paid a £5 deposit - a cunning ruse to get people to turn up. As anyone who’s ever organised a free event knows, the dropout rate can be scandalously high.

Anyway, the dinner was nice enough - I went for a decidedly unChristmassy steak, in the knowledge that I’d be having muchos turkey this week. To my left, I had Katie and Sue (Pressy’s wife) discussing babies and housework. To my right, I had Rich, Kat, Ian and Lindsey on the merits of real versus robotic dogs.

After dinner, we headed upstairs - the whole place was full of Christmas parties, and most of the bars were closed off as a result. Still, we had plenty of free wine - apart from that first beer, I didn’t buy a drink all evening! We drank and chatted, then chatted and drank, while people drifted home in drips and drabs. And probably taxis.

It was coming up to midnight, and there were just a handful of us left, including Stu and Amy and Jon and Mandy*. My plan at this point was to mosey on somewhere else pretty shortly, either TigerLounge (where a couple of workmates had gone) or the remnants of the MUGSS Ball. However, those plans were to go straight out of the window…

* Who really really reminds me of my friend Claire, up in Gateshead - in terms of individual features, there isn’t that strong a resemblance, but put it together and you get someone who really confuses me when I catch her face out of the corner of my eye. Mandy’s hair’s much darker than Claire’s, but the set of her brow, the corner of her smile…I don’t know, but the overall effect is there.

One of my workmates grabbed me for a dance, dragging me up to the small dancefloor in the corner, which was absolutely rammed. So as not to embarrass the lady in question, I shall call her ‘B’.

We danced for a little while, then two of the other girls came and joined us. B, at this point, just about hit The Wall - I guess the alcohol must have hit her. We got her back to the others, and put her strappy shoes back on. Those things are impossible - it took three of us! Amy and I then carried B downstairs and called her a cab, waiting with her outside.

The cab came, and I decided it’d be a good idea to accompany B home. Fortunately, I’d jotted down her address, and eventually got her back (she was asleep - bless!) with the aid of the cabbie’s A-to-Z. Helped her upstairs and into bed, then got back in the cab and went home.

Planned getting home budget: £1 on the bus.
Actual getting home budget: £30 on a 15-mile cab fare!

Ho hum. Some you win, some you lose.

Sat on the sofa watching the cricket highlights (Go Freddie Go!), txted a couple of people in an (unsuccessful) attempt to garner a progress report on the MUGSS after-ball party, and eventually headed to bed.

Quite a fun night, really, albeit nowhere near as late or as drunken as planned.

Last Saturday saw my work Christmas do. Before that, however, I had to negotiate a hockey match, for the seconds again, away at Llandudno.

It was a long way to travel to get beaten 3-1. On the plus side, we had a rather weakened team (the midfield, in particular was missing a few key players) and could easily have won had we taken a few more of our chances.

It was a very bad tempered game, violent even. Their players were clearly not averse to getting physical, particularly their centre-forwards, who were, well, a pair of arseholes really. Llandudno were one of the best sides in our league, and research had shown that they score most of their goals from the left wing. As a right back, I was going to have a very hard game.

Our “manager”, T, got us to play zonal marking at the back, which actually worked, and we tried to attack on the wings. The first 15 or so minutes was all us, and we went into a 1-0 lead, which got cancelled out just before half time. I thought I had a pretty mediocre half, to be honest.

The second half came, and they pretty much switched their gameplan to attacking through the middle or on the right - I consider this a personal victory! Unfortunately for us, it worked, and they banged in two goals. One of which, from a short corner, I reckon I should have blocked

I got to attack a fair bit, but it was just one of those days where nothing came off for me - I’d run up the pitch, get the ball…and then lose possession. Ho hum.

Still, I seem to have bedded into the second team. It’s hard work, but definitely fun, and they’re nowhere near as much of a step up from the thirds as I’d originally thought.

Last Friday, I returned to Hulme Hall for the first time in YEARS, to see their production of Disco Inferno*. I’d spent my 4th year of uni at Hulme, having failed to get in for my 1st year (but that’s another story entirely), and have some pretty fond memories of the place. I’d not been back in the Hulme Hall Bar since I left the place, back in 1999.

* That website’s an awful lot of (musical) Flash before you get to the “Coming Soon” notice. This one gives a bit more useful information.

They were putting on Disco Inferno, with Becky D II (one of the MUGSS freshers) in the chorus and, with little better to do that night, I went along in the company of Si, Jordan, Malcolm, Paul and Andrew.

It was always going to be a pretty entertaining show, just because of the fun soundtrack - set in the 70s, it was basically an excuse to string together a shedload of discotastic tunes. Unfortunately, some of the performances just weren’t up to much. The lead, in particular, was well out of his depth with some of his solo songs in Act II, hitting (or not, as the case may be) some notes that made us cringe.

In fact, it was only the gaggle of rather attractive (and very sultry, not to mention skimpily-clad) brunettes frolicking around on stage that saved it.

A pity, really - the songs and energy on stage kept the show going in Act I, and the audience were really getting into things, before it all fell down and started to drag, about a third of the way into Act II. The entire row behind me left about halfway through Act II, having spent the last 20 minutes or so making disparaging comments.

Eventually the show ended, and Si and I managed to sneak into the bar for a pint with Becky and one of the other players. It’s strange that I remember the place as being much larger than it actually is. It’s heartening to see that my year’s photo is still there - I eventually found myself standing at the back. Memories…

We were joined by Andrew and Becky S, and I went to grab a kebab with them before heading home and pretty much to bed. A rather low-key Friday night, really.

Last week was an absolute nightmare with work - 13-hour days and more, all to meet a deadline…which ended up shifting, as some bugs were discovered at the last minute.

We tech authors/writers are, at the end of the day, hugely dependent on others, usually developers and testers, for the information that allows us to do our jobs. Unfortunately, sometimes that information just doesn’t get there early enough, or is just plain rubbish. When I get told stuff really close to product release time, that I had no way of knowing earlier, it really hacks me off.

Which is probably why I was in such a grump for most of last week.

Unfortunately, no man is an island. Unless he’s standing in the sea. You’re dependent on others, and others are dependent on you. Doesn’t stop you getting stressed, though.

But that’s all beside the point. Grump grump grump.

I was going to write about last (extended) weekend, which featured drinks with housemates, a visit to my old hall of residence, and drunken shenanigans at my works do…but I’ve not had the chance, and I really don’t want to leave this copy of Notepad open on my desktop for yet another day. So it’ll all have to wait until later.

A couple of Friday nights ago (as described in Vol I of Tales from the Sofa of Wrongness) I got the bus home, after obtaining a (not-so-)cheapo pizza.

As I sat down, I found a phone on my seat. Nothing fancy - just an old Nokia. I decided that, rather than leave it on the bus to be half-inched by some scally, I’d take it and try to get it back to its owner.

So I did. I scanned through the list of numbers, and found nothing helpful except a “home” number that had a non-Manc area code…probably a parental number.

It really is a good idea to have contact details stored under something obvious, e.g. “Me” - I used to have a little digital organiser thing, which I lost at university. Fortunately, I had my email address under “Me” and some kind soul picked it up, emailed me, and arranged to give it back.

Anyway, I then looked at the first couple of txt msgs, and found out that the phone’s owner was called ‘Mark’. I picked the two that seemed to be from mates rather than acquaintances, and dropped them “I seem to have picked up your friend’s phone - please get him to call me on [my number] to arrange a pick up” txts.

I then got home and found Housemate Lynda typing away on Housemate Andrew’s laptop. It seemed that Andrew had gotten himself very drunk indeed on bottled beer, sitting in on a Friday night, and Lynda was talking to one of his mates on MSN Messenger.

Andrew’s poor mate then found himself talking to a drunken gestalt Mahinda-Lynda entity for a while…which must have been nice.

Went up to bed, and slept.

I was woken up on Saturday morning by an unfamiliar ring tone. It was Mark’s phone, with the number listed as “[something] Road”. So I answered, to find a suspicious voice asking “Who’s that?”

I replied with “Ah, you must be Mark. I picked your phone up on the bus last night.”

Suitably introduced, we arranged that Mark (who lives fairly close) come to pick his phone up on Sunday evening.

I then drove down to Cheltenham, experienced The Sofa Of Wrongness, and returned to MancLand. Sure enough, the doorbell rang at 8.20pm. I opened the door to find Mark standing there, and gave him his phone. In return, he gave me a tenner!

I protested that there was no need, but he wasn’t having it.

So, I gave half of it to charity (a workmate had just done a sponsored run, and got £10 rather than £5 from me) and pocketed the remaining fiver.

Well, I may try to be altruistic, but I’m hardly Mother Theresa!

On Saturday morning, I awoke fairly early, shook the grogginess out of my head (no, that is NOT a euphemism), and eventually headed over to Pete and Rosy’s to pick them up prior to a jolly jaunt down to Cheltenham.

The plan was to meet up at Linden’s at about midday…unfortunately, Pete and Rosy were running a bit late, and we needed to get alcohol. Ended up at Linden’s just after 1pm, having stopped off at Sainsbury’s.

The plan was for Pete, Rosy and Si to get into my car, with Linden driving Ed and Sarah down. Once he got wind of our plans to listen to Liverpool-Wigan on Radio 5 Live, however, Si decided that he didn’t need legroom after all, and jumped in with Linden.

The Journey

I issued t’other car with their radio (Oregon Scientific PMR jobbies, with a nominal range of 3 miles!) and we headed off.

The long motorway journey was definitely made more palatable by being in radio contact…unfortunately, the fact that my little Honda has a fist-sized hole in its silencer meant that it was just a tad loud.

Pete and I were highly miffed when the other car didn’t get the “smokey on your tail” reference - we’d been waiting all journey to pull off that one!

While approaching Birmingham, Ed radioed through that they wanted to stop off. “Roger that, 10-4, over and out”…or something like that. The other car followed that up by driving straight past the next service station. We stopped at the next one, and the girls expressed a desire for Little Chef. I think it was just Rosy and I who didn’t partake. In my case, my hangover was playing with my hunger, to the extent that I wasn’t…and the prospect of overpriced not-particularly-tasty grub just wasn’t tempting enough. I was proved correct, as the others received their meals, which were overpriced and, indeed, not particularly tasty.

The Ginsters Peppered Slice I had half an hour later, on the other hand, was still slightly overpriced, but fairly tasty.

It being a small world, whom should I meet in the service station foyer but Dave, who’d been the dame for two out of the three Altrincham Garrick pantomimes for which I’d been chorus! He’d gotten a part in a touring (professional) ADULT panto, Aladdin! Unfortunately, I can’t find anything only online about it, save that the company’s called “AdultAntics”. They were heading to Cardiff. I wonder how it went?

The Flat of Glittering Delights

We drove through Cheltenham and, unfortunately, had to pull over as we couldn’t quite find the flat. Fortunately, when pulling over, we found that we’d parked up almost directly in front of said flat!

Mike and Pam’s flat is bloody fantastic! The basement floor of an old Victorian (?) town house, i.e. the old servants’ quarters. Basically, acres of room…and a toyroom out back. The toyroom rocked, literally, with guitars and Mike’s shiny new drum kit. Pete and I had a go - it’s A LOT harder than it looks! I think you have to be some sort of gangle spider with mutant limbs to master it all.

Still, one day, I want to be a drummer.

we waited for various people to arrive, and drank tea (most people) or beer (Rosy). It was one of those slightly awkward “I want to start drinking but I don’t think anyone else does” things. I don’t think Rosy noticed

I’m not even going to contemplate drawing up a relationship diagram for that party - it’s quite possibly the most incestuous party I’ve ever been at!

However, I should at least list the folks there:

(grouped by couple or, failing that, geography)

• Mike and Pam
• Linden and Ed
• Mark and Jenn
• Cattac (aka Chris) and Sarah
• Colin and Nicola
• Pete, Rosy, Sarah, Si(mon), Dr.Kate, me
• Shifty (aka Nick), Jonesy, Matt, Emily

A fair proportion of people there had gone out with two (or more!) of the others. Or at least drunkenly snogged them at some point in the past.

So, once everyone had arrived (and stuff), we headed over
to a pool hall for, well, pool.

Then we headed, en masse, to one of the most genius things I’ve ever seen - a pizza parlour that sells everything one could possibly want, e.g. chicken, burgers, kebabs (albeit the rubbish southern variety) and ALCOHOL!

The pizzas weren’t cheap, mind. Tasty, though.

Went back to the flat, and that’s where the real drinking began.

The Sofa of Wrongness - Finally!

‘Twas pretty much your standard matey house party, where most people knew most other people. The conversation flowed, and we were joined by some of Mike’s workmates, one of whom told me about a sport that’s basically paintball for your calculating non-macho type. More realistic guns, firing soft plastic pellets that, while they don’t leave a mark, are much more accurate than paintballs - it’s more about the tactical stuff, and relies on people being honest when they’re hit…so there’s absolutely no chance of it working with the stag party paintball crew.

Wish I could remember what it’s called, though.

So, The Sofa of Wrongness. Much alluded to but, until now, not described.

It was just an ordinary 3-seater sofa, in Mike and Pam’s living room. And then Si and I ended up on either end, with Sarah in the middle. At one point, both of us had an arm round her.

And that, as is clear to anyone who knows us all, is why it was The Sofa of Wrongness.

Admittedly, it was more slight-awkwardness-wrong than multiple-people-fondling-wrong (see “Party, Tarts”), but it was wrong nonetheless!

Think the party went on until something like 4am, as all good parties should. Might even have been later. We all crashed out on the floor, with much bedding brought down with us.

The Alka-Seltzer fairy (i.e. Mike) even brought some donations round as we settled down for the night.

The Morning After

I was woken up by Emily running through the hallway, screaming, as she ran to open the door for some of the others (who’d booked into a hotel). It was quite Pythonesque, seeing a foot come down just inches from your nose.

I was sharing the hallway with Shifty, who proceeded to sit there in his pants for a while. Nice. Fortunately, he decided that the Alka-Seltzer jobbies weren’t suppositories, after all.

So that’s about all I’ve got time to write - we drove back up, this time with Sarah in my car, and I pretty much spent the day in bed afterwards.

Sleeeeeeeeep…